


Prompt 28: Supernatural Problems

by irrationalgame



Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [28]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Bodyswap, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27291598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: Comfortween prompts from https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.html28. Supernatural ProblemsSpell mishaps or haunting or strange futuristic tech gone haywire and in need of fixing.Jimmy makes a wish. Things get weird.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949317
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	Prompt 28: Supernatural Problems

October was segueing into November and autumn into winter - the leaves were now brown and crisp with frost rather than red and wet with rain. Jimmy turned up his collar against the cold, his breath hanging in the air like smoke.

“Bloody stupid idea to go to a fayre in this - it’s going to snow,” he grumbled.

“Don’t be miserable,” Thomas said around a cigarette. His nose was red from the cold.

Jimmy huffed; “I’m not. I just don’t like being bloody freezin’. You probably don’t feel it, what with your heart bein’ made of ice an’ all.”

“Have a cigarette and stop bellyaching,” Thomas smirked and bumped his shoulder against Jimmy’s. Jimmy pushed back and Thomas reciprocated until they were practically wrestling as they walked along.

“Will you two cut it out?” Bates said, passing by with Anna on his arm, “Mr Carson wouldn’t like it. You’re making a show.”

Thomas rolled his eyes and Jimmy gestured rudely behind his back.

“Mr Carson can shove it,” Thomas muttered.

The fayre itself wasn’t anything special - the same old rides, a few stalls selling hot cider and pork rolls, the same fixed games that were impossible to win.

Thomas bought them both a steaming cup of cider and they perched on a low wall, watching Ivy and Daisy laugh as they whizzed by on the carousel.

“I’m only havin’ the one drink,” Jimmy said, apropos of nothing. “Y’know, after what happened last time.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Very sensible of you.”

“Wouldn’t want to see you gettin’ your face punched in again.”

“Nor would I.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“I know.”

“I really am.”

“You’ve said.”

Jimmy pouted; “I just want you to know, y’know, that I was wrong. And I’m glad we’re friends.”

Thomas lit another cigarette.

“We are mates now, aren’t we?” Jimmy held out his hand and Thomas passed him the pack.

“Of course. Didn’t buy anyone else a drink, did I?”

“Best mates?”

Thomas nodded.

“Really close like.”

“I suppose.”

“And y’know, it’s normal for close mates to have feelings and stuff for each other? Like friendship feelings an’ that? Jus’ means you care ‘bout them.” Jimmy lit his cig and handed the pack back.

Thomas frowned. “What?”

“An’ ‘course I care ‘bout you, you’re me best mate. It’s natural that I would.”

“Um, thanks?”

“Y’know girls tell their mates they love them all the time. It’s like a thing. Y’know. To love your friend. Friendship love.”

Thomas turned to him then and said; “Jimmy, what are you doing?”

Jimmy blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you - and I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, trust me - are you trying to get me to say I _love_ you?”

Jimmy laughed so manically that a passing woman looked at him with concern before picking up her pace.

“No!” Jimmy laughed again, sounding increasingly strained. “No bloody way. That’s not. I wasn’t _doin_ ’ anythin’.”

Thomas sighed. “Of course I care about you Jimmy.”

“No need to get soppy,” Jimmy huffed.

“Jesus Jimmy,” Thomas snapped, “you’re impossible.” He got up and made to walk off, only turning back to say; “Come and find me when you’ve grown up.” Then disappeared into the crowd.

Jimmy sulked, finished his drink and smoked his cig down to the absolute end before deciding to make a round of the little stalls. And to surreptitiously look for a certain under-butler.

Alfred was at the food stall loitering and wistfully smelling spices he couldn’t afford, so Jimmy gave it a wide birth as he wasn’t in the mood to have his ear bent about nutmeg. He couldn’t be bothered with the silly games, he’d already vowed to lay off the booze and he hadn’t been able to spot Thomas, so there really wasn’t much else to do. He drifted off to one end of the fayre - it was mostly bales of old hay that had been laid out as chairs and was much less populated than the main thoroughfare.

He sat down on a damp hay bale and sulked a bit more, watching the merriment with a sour expression, until something caught his eye. At the side of an empty tent was a strange box, containing a waxwork of a man in a sort of genie get-up, with rings through his ears and a funny little upturned moustache. The machine had _Zoltar Speaks!_ painted on the front of the glass cabinet in vaguely eastern looking script, and slot to put a penny in.

Jimmy wandered over to the machine and pressed the button, peering inside - nothing happened, but he supposed you had to spend money to get it to do anything. Below the coin slot was a little metal plaque that read:

_Zoltar speaks truth_   
_So ask if your dare_   
_He’ll tell your fortune_   
_So see how you fair!_   
_Make a wish for whatever_   
_Your heart does desire_   
_But beware of what_   
_Your words may inspire!_

Jimmy smirked to himself. It was obviously a load of nonsense invented to separate idiots from their money but...well, it was just a bit of fun, what was the harm? Jimmy found a penny rolling around in his jacket pocket and plonked it into the coin slot.

Nothing happened.

Jimmy huffed and thumped the machine lightly, then more vigorously, irritated that the thing had stolen a whole penny for nothing.

“Come on,” he said and kicked the base. The lights flickered, illuminating the machine from within, and the waxwork’s mouth opened and closed. “Creepy,” Jimmy frowned.

Now he just needed a question or a wish.

“I wish I had,” he paused. He was going to say _loads of money_ , but that wasn’t what he really wanted. Money couldn’t buy what he wanted.

He thought for a moment then sighed and said; “I wish...I could make Thomas understand me. It’s...he has no idea how hard it is to realise you’re...not who you thought. I just - I wish he could know how I feel. Can’t believe I’m sayin’ this to a stupid tacky waxwork,” he smirked, and pressed the little red button on the front of the box.

Zoltar’s mouth snapped shut and the machine whirred and clicked until a small card dropped out of a slot on the case and landed by Jimmy’s foot. He picked it up - the front was decorated with Zoltar’s ugly face. Jimmy flipped the card over - the back simply stated: _Your Wish Is Granted._

Jimmy frowned - the thing was, of course, a complete rip-off. He stuffed the card in his pocket and decided he might as well go home. It _had_ started to snow and he was frozen through, and without Thomas the whole fayre was a bust anyway.

When he eventually crawled into bed he had horrible dreams about Thomas turning into a waxwork and chasing him around the Abbey, shouting at him to be careful of what he wished for.

He woke with a start at the six o’clock call - a familiar dual-skylit ceiling that was not his own stared back down at him and he frowned, confused. He’d been in Thomas’s room enough times to know immediately that was where he had woken, but he had absolutely no idea how he’d gotten there. Perhaps he’d walked there in his sleep.

But of course, that begged the question; where was Thomas? Jimmy got out of Thomas’s bed and nearly fell over - his legs were too long, his body too tall. He caught sight of his left hand and had to sit back down on the bed - there was a circular scar in the middle of his palm. Jimmy knew that scar. He knew those hands. God knows he’d spent enough time staring at the way they held a cigarette.

He crossed the room and looked in the mirror; two slate grey eyes stared back at him, a shock of black hair in place of his usual blonde. He was Thomas. Or rather he was Jimmy, trapped in Thomas’s body.

He was just beginning to wonder what that meant for _his_ body when there was a sharp knock at the door and someone who looked a lot like Jimmy let himself in without waiting to be invited. It had to be Thomas.

“Thomas?” Jimmy said to his own face. It was a very jarring feeling.

Thomas nodded, an unruly blonde curl bobbing. He was staring at Jimmy, his mouth open, every line of his body radiating anxiety. It was strange to see his own face wearing one of Thomas’s expressions.

“Jimmy?” Thomas finally replied. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” Jimmy said in Thomas’s northern lilt, then; “I woke up and I’m you.”

“Yeah,” Thomas replied. Jimmy hadn’t realised his own voice was so deep. “Same.”

They stared at each other for a long moment - the hall boy banged on the door again and they both jumped.

“We’re going to be late,” Thomas said.

“Don’t we have more pressing matters to attend to?” Jimmy snapped.

“We’ll still need our jobs when we figure out how to reverse this.”

That was true. “I don’t know how to do your job.”

Thomas sighed - it somehow sounded petulant coming from Jimmy. Perhaps that was why Carson was always so irritated at him.

“I can help you - thankfully I’m all up to date with everything so there’s not much to do today beyond serving.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the wild waves, “Luckily for you I remember how to be a footman.”

The commotion in the corridor outside signalled they should be heading down, but neither man was dressed.

“Look,” Thomas said, “just get through the morning and we’ll talk about this after lunch. I’m sure we can think of something that could’ve caused it.”

Jimmy’s stomach twisted into a tight knot.

 _Zoltar_.

He nodded and said; “Lunchtime.” Thomas was going to kill him.

  
Jimmy managed to get dressed without actually looking at himself naked and arrived only a few minutes late for breakfast. He managed to finagle and bluff his way through the morning with Thomas offering him a word of advice whenever he could. Jimmy thought he was doing a passable impression of Thomas, but the under-butler didn’t agree.

“Stop slouching against things,” Thomas said, “you’ll crease my livery.”

“I don’t slouch,” Jimmy replied, “I lean.”

“Well I _don’t_.”

After lunch they met in the yard - Thomas was already half way through a cigarette when Jimmy arrived.

“So you do buy cigarettes then,” he said, “you just prefer to steal mine.”

Jimmy gave what he hoped was a Thomas-y smirk. “You can afford them, Mr under-butler.”

“Not for much longer if we don’t figure out how to switch back,” Thomas replied. “You’re going to struggle when it comes to the ledgers and schedules.”

“Then we change back,” Jimmy said.

“You say that like it’s simple.”

“Well,” Jimmy hesitated, “I think I know what might’ve caused this.” He explained about finding Zoltar at the fayre and that he’d made a wish.

“What did you wish for?” Thomas said, frowning. “Not this, surely?”

“Most definitely not _this_. I said, well,” he paused, trying to think of a lie. “You were all cross at me so I said, I dunno, somethin’ about you understanding me.” It wasn’t strictly the truth but it was close enough.

“Well, looks like the old adage ‘be careful what you wish for’ is bloody apt here,” Thomas said, then; “Let’s sneak out this evening and see if there wishing thing is still there. Maybe we can un-wish it.” He shook his head. “This is ridiculous though - are we believing in magic and spells and that now?”

“If you’ve got another explanation then I’m happy to believe it,” Jimmy shrugged.

  
They managed to sneak out after supper and made their way towards the village. Jimmy had put Thomas’s leather gloves on, surprised by how much his hand ached all the time.

“I didn’t know how painful your old war wound was,” Jimmy said, rubbing it to try and ease the pain.

Thomas quirked an eyebrow; “It’s the cold weather. It’s not so bad in the summer.”

“You should’ve said.”

“Why? There’s nothing to be done about it, what’s the point complaining?”

“I could’ve,” Jimmy started, not knowing what he was planning on saying next, “helped.”

Thomas gave him a sceptical look - it was nowhere near as effective on Jimmy’s face.

“I meant, like, do some of your duties for you,” Jimmy lied.

“Shite,” Thomas said suddenly. Jimmy followed his line of sight to the village green. It was empty - there wasn’t even any indication the fayre had been there. “Guess we won’t be unwishing it then.”

Just then the landlord of the Dog and Duck passed them, a newspaper under his arm.

“Excuse me,” Jimmy said, in Thomas’s best upstairs voice, “do you know when the fayre left?”

The landlord frowned at Jimmy. “Odd business that. It were all packed up an’ gone when I got up this mornin’ for the new barrels ter be delivered. Dunno how they got out so quick like.” He shrugged and carried on back towards the pub.

Thomas and Jimmy exchanged a look.

“Well that’s not strange at all,” Thomas said.

They were both quiet on the walk back, clearly lost in thought. Eventually Thomas broke the silence.

“It could be worse you know,” he said.

“How, exactly?” Jimmy frowned.

“You could’ve swapped bodies with Alfred.”

Jimmy sniggered. “Or Molesley.”

Thomas pulled a disgusted face. “Oh! Or Bates!”

“That’s the worst one,” he grimaced, “imagine having to go to bed with _Anna_.”

Thomas snorted a laugh. “I’d rather not imagine that, thanks. I’m already traumatised enough knowing you’ve had to go to the toilet for me.”

“I didn’t look,” Jimmy lied. He had looked. Thomas was bigger.

Thomas stopped and lit a cigarette. “What the hell are we going to do now?”

“If this were a novel or a film or summat then there’d be like, a moral or a lesson we had to learn before swappin’ back.”

“I’ve learned you’re a bloody layabout. Your room is a disaster.”

“Haha,” Jimmy said sarcastically. “Seriously though?”

“You wished us this way,” Thomas shrugged. “Maybe you’re the one who’s supposed to be learning?” He took a long drag on his cig then said; “We’re definitely fucked then.”

Jimmy swatted him on the arm and started walking again.

Thomas was probably right though - Jimmy had wished them this way. What had he said? _I wish he could know how I feel_. Zoltar had, of course, taken the bloody wish literally. He should’ve known better - but then he’d never imagined it would come true.

  
They nearly got caught out by Mrs Hughes on their way back in but managed to dart up the staff staircase and pile into Thomas’s room, giggling like errant schoolboys.

“I really need a drink,” Thomas said. He rummaged around in his closet and bought out a bottle of red wine with a fancy French name Jimmy couldn’t pronounce. “I was saving this for a special occasion but,” he shrugged.

“I am pretty special,” Jimmy grinned. He flopped down on Thomas’s bed and kicked off his shoes.

Thomas rummaged in his bureau for a corkscrew and Jimmy lit two cigarettes. Once the wine was open Thomas joined Jimmy on the bed and took a long drink straight from the bottle. Jimmy watched, awestruck, as Thomas licked a dribble of red off his bottom lip. _No wonder people are always wantin’ to kiss me_ , he thought.

Thomas traded the bottle for a cigarette and Jimmy drank almost half the bottle in several long gulps that burned his throat in the way down.

“Steady on,” Thomas said, “I don’t normally drink that much, you’ll be tight.”

“That’s the plan.”

They smoked and chatted as they finished the bottle; Jimmy undid his tie and collar, then eventually removed his shirt entirely and sat about in his undershirt and trousers.

“Thomas,” Jimmy said, his courage buoyed up by alcohol, “I need to tell you something. About Zoltar and the wish.”

Thomas was suddenly very alert. “Oh?”

“I wasn’t one hundred percent truthful when I told you what I wished for.”

“What?”

“You see, I didn’t want to tell you because, it was sort of _personal_ like.”

Thomas sighed. “Jimmy, we are literally in each other’s bodies. I don’t think it can get more personal.”

“I know. It’s just...embarrassing.”

“Jimmy, spit it out.”

Jimmy sighed and said; “I wished you could...understand me. Know how I feel.”

Thomas blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because...I’ve been trying to tell you something and I’m just not - I’m not brave like you Thomas,” he reached out and gripped Thomas’s arm, “I don’t know how to do this. Anything. I never - I’ve never cared about someone the way I care for you. I’ve never _loved_ before.”

Watching Thomas’s reaction Jimmy suddenly understood why he never won at poker - he had no idea how expressive his own face was.

“Do you mean it, truly?” Thomas asked, his eyes bright.

Jimmy nodded. “I’m bloody useless though Thomas. I mean look at us - all because I couldn’t find the words to just tell you.”

Thomas laughed then, “You’re a bleedin’ idiot, you know that?”

“I do,” Jimmy frowned, “no need to be quite so amused though.”

“Sorry it’s just - it’s typical of you. You never make anything easy, do you?”

“Not if I can turn it into a rigmarole instead,” Jimmy smirked. Then, serious, he added; “So yeah. I um. You. Me. Y’know. How do you feel ‘bout that?”

“A wordsmith you are not Jimmy,” Thomas grinned, “but I wouldn’t change you for the world. Well, except back into your own body of course.”

“So you, y’know?”

Thomas nodded. “Did you doubt it?”

“Truthfully, yes,” Jimmy said, “I’m not very lovable.

“You are to me,” Thomas said. He leaned in so closely that Jimmy could feel Thomas’s breath against his lips. “If you ever doubt it again just remember this.” And he kissed Jimmy slow and deep, his hands coming up to cradle Jimmy’s face.

It was surreal to be kissed by himself, so Jimmy closed his eyes and thought about Thomas’s red lips and pale skin and Thomas’s fingers caressing his cheek. An involuntary sound of pleasure escaped his throat and it was all the encouragement Thomas needed to pull Jimmy into his arms.

“Thomas,” Jimmy said, embarrassed by how undone he sounded, “I can’t.”

Thomas drew back immediately, his face unusually open, his brows drawn together on concern.

“I want to,” Jimmy continued quickly, sensing the under-butler’s worry, “it’s just - it’s strange doing that with myself. I want to see your face when I’m touching and kissing you, not me own.”

Thomas nodded, “Yes, I can understand that.”

“Will you stay though?” Jimmy added, “Here, just for a bit?”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

They talked for a while more, Jimmy nestled in Thomas’s arms, until they both fell asleep.

The six o’clock call woke them both with a start and Thomas nearly pushed Jimmy out of the bed.

“Hey?! Watch it will ya?” Jimmy huffed, rubbing his eyes.

“Jimmy.” Thomas said. He was staring at the footman with a smile much too broad for a man who’d just woken up, his grey eyes crinkled in genuine happiness.

His _grey_ eyes.

Thomas was _Thomas_ again. Jimmy leapt out of bed and over to the mirror - blonde hair, crumpled but still good, bright blue eyes, a strong jaw, full lips. Jimmy gave a great sigh of relief. He was back in his own body. He dived back on the bed and attacked Thomas, wrapping both arms around the under-butler.

“It’s fixed - we fixed it somehow!” He smiled, planting a kiss on Thomas’s cheek.

“We didn’t do anything though,” Thomas replied. “Oh, except had probably our first proper, honest conversation since we met.”

“That’s it! I told you how I feel and it fulfilled the wish, so we were returned to our own bodies.” He leaned in and kissed Thomas’s jaw then his mouth.

“Pity we have to go to work now,” Thomas replied, “seeing as we’re back in our own bodies and all.”

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Jimmy said, then clapped a hand over his own mouth.

“Jimmy, what have we learned?” Thomas said with false seriousness.

“I know,” Jimmy grinned, “Be careful what you wish for.”

**Author's Note:**

> Zoltar is obviously stolen from the 1988 film Big. I like to think of him travelling the world mysteriously granting wishes to idiots.


End file.
